“Lands of the far north, such as the Sun Lands, are said to contain warriors that can shoot arrows from the back of a horse… when the horse is in a gallop… Their horses are said to be very swift, and they swirl about their enemy and seek to wear down a warrior’s resolve.
“There are also accounts from northern lands that great drums of war are used in battle… and that their warriors are very fanatical. If we face such an army, all of us will be facing such warriors for the first time. This is exactly why the Unifier would hurl such an army against us,” Aelfric continued, his words uttered deliberately slower so that they could impress more fully upon the minds of the men around him.
“Then the shield wall must hold, and remain firm,” another thane commented to Aelfric’s left.
The man was one of Aelfric’s own thanes, a young and likeable man named Leofwine. It was his first major campaign, having come of age just a year prior, and into his inheritance only a couple of months after that.
Leofwine’s eyes sparkled with a brash youthfulness, as he iterated confidently, “If they mean to frighten men with that which is unknown, then we must be steadfast.”
“The shield wall must not lose heart. Those on the shield wall must not break ranks, no matter how strange or different the sights,” Aelfric stated firmly. “If the enemy is close enough to loose arrows, or hurl javelins, then they will be close enough for us to reach with arrow or javelin.”
“And Avanor?” still another thane queried, one with many more years on him than Leofwine. His name Wermund, the thane came from the lands of the Ealdorman Oslac in Mittevald. “Will they seek to fight in such a way? Horsemen shooting arrows from a gallop?”
“No. They will come riding upon the strongest of steeds on the battlefield, and clad in the heaviest armor that we have known. They will use great numbers of archers… and they will use the crossbow. Their fight will not be one to tire us. They will seek to bludgeon us. They will look to open holes in our shield wall for their horsemen to penetrate,” Aelfric related somberly. “They have great discipline, and will be fierce opponents.
“The Avanorans are cunning too, and may try to loosen our shield wall by getting our own men to make an opening for them… to make it appear that they are falling back, to lure our men to break ranks in the hopes of a rout. This tactic has been written of, and has been used to great effect before. No man should fall prey to this, no matter how enticing the moment appears. We must make this very clear to all men on the front line of the wall. The entire battle’s outcome may rest upon how disciplined we can remain.”
“Then it is the shield wall that must be held, at all cost,” the older thane Wermund said resolutely, echoing Leofwine. “And of Ehrengard? What unknown means might they bring?”
“Ehrengard we know most of all. Our brethren in the Western Marches have much experience fighting them. They will not all be of a common purpose. The leaders of Ehrengard have the least unity of any that come against us. As many of you know, they constantly war within themselves, among their princes, nobles, and bishops… and this may be to our advantage.”
“And the Halmlander? Will they be among them?” Wermund asked. There was a discernable hesitancy and an edge to his voice, accompanying the collective tension that swelled in the room at the open mention of the murderous, fearsome Halmlander from Ehrengard. The vile mercenary company’s fame was widespread, and for a very bloody reason.
Aelfric’s own countenance grew grim at the mention of them. He slowly nodded his head, taking a deep breath.
His voice remained steady, though he shared the great trepidation that the men around him had. “Ehrengard has wealth, and there is little doubt that they will use it to bring the Halmlander with them. I have received some word of this as well. I expect that there will be a great company of Halmlander on the battlefield. We cannot deny that, and we must ready ourselves for it.”
“They must never get through! We have no choice but to slay those mad dogs. Every last one of them,” snarled a man named Agobard. He was a noble with considerable lands in the great County of Rouenum, situated just to the south of the Western Marches. He turned towards a taller man to his immediate left. “Do I not speak true?”
“There can be no compromise on such an evil,” commented the tall, deep-voiced man, Count Arnulf of Rouenum.
Aelfric took close account of the highly regarded Count.
One of the most respected nobles in the realm, Count Arnulf had witnessed the brutality of war many times, and had walked more than once upon blood-soaked ground. Aelfric knew that there was little that could startle or surprise Rouenum’s great count, as Arnulf’s demeanor had been shown to be icily calm amid the worst moments of battle.
Aelfric was well aware that the Count had come across the wake of the Halmlander once before, after the mercenaries had passed through a village situated near the Saxan borders. All reports that had come back to Aelfric had said that the sight of the ravages of the Halmlander had immediately unsettled the Count’s battle-hardened eyes, driving him to openly weeping bitter tears.
There was little doubt that the horrific sights had left a deep scar upon the Count’s heart ever since. Virtually no man could leave a place that the Halmlander had desecrated with his memory unscathed. Such was the baleful infamy of the vile mercenary company from Ehrengard.
“Ealdorman Aelfric, if these demons are indeed among the ranks of the enemy, we have no choice but to slay them to the very last man. Give us your word that we will hunt them from the moment the battle begins,” Count Arnulf said quickly, though his voice held a faint tremor to it.
The sickening fear of having the Halmlander break through the Saxan lines, to gain unfettered access to the vulnerable villages and towns, was rife within the Count’s nearly-shaking voice. A panicked murmur broke out within the tent, and Aelfric knew the cause immediately.
The men who knew the Count had never before heard his voice tinged with such dire apprehension.
The feared mercenary band, from deep within Ehrengard, needed no legend to magnify their brutality. Ferocious warriors, they were an advantage to those princes who chose to hire them. Yet once turned loose, they were like a fire unleashed in a dry forest.
They could not be reasoned with, nor could mercy be found anywhere in their darkened hearts. Even the coldest of souls among those that hired them could not help but cringe at the tales of the atrocities that the Halmlander committed in pillaged towns and villages, to sate their seemingly inexhaustible bloodlust.
In battle, the black-hearted mercenaries were indeed well disciplined, fearless, and steadfast. Few commanders could hope to find better infantry. They had turned the course of battles around by themselves, and refused to break ranks, no matter what transpired around them.
Following a battle, especially in a sacked city, town, or village, they transformed into the most rabid and demonic of men. Their depravity knew no bounds.
Despite this, their battlefield value was too great for any prince bent on conquest to ignore. Using them also kept the Halmlander from becoming too restless within the lands of Ehrengard itself.
If left unpaid and unused for too long, the amalgam of former criminals, deserters, heretics, and other manner of rogues would heed no authority. They were not above visiting their devilry upon Ehrengard’s own lands, as some royal magnates and nobles had learned in the past, to their great dismay.
“The Halmlander may be the greatest reason why the shield wall must hold and not waver. My heart is as yours. They must not get through, no matter the cost,” Aelfric replied carefully, sharing their fears on the matter.